


Scarves

by Timid_FlowerGirl



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Background Relationships, Café Musain, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, E/R - Freeform, Far too pure, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, I love these idiots with all my heart, Jehan is my baby so he gets a cameo, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Mindless Fluff, Modern Era, Multi, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Pining Grantaire, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because it's Grantaire, but it's implied, but tbh everyone already knows he's pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 06:55:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16805665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timid_FlowerGirl/pseuds/Timid_FlowerGirl
Summary: Grantaire loves Enjolras, it's nothing new. When he accidentally leaves his favourite scarf at the leader's apartment, Grantaire opens up a chain of events that might just end with a perfect Christmas.





	Scarves

It was a late December evening. Though there had not been a snowfall yet, the city was bitterly cold. An icy breeze whipped through Grantaire’s tousled curls and the young man clutched his scarf to his nose, grateful for the warmth. It was the same scarf he had had for years, and this showed in the fraying edges and small holes. Yet he never left home without it in the winter months. The scarf was a dark green fleece material, and smelled of sweat, paint, and alcohol. In short, it smelled like Grantaire.

“Hey! R! Wait up!” Grantaire turned to see Combeferre hurrying to catch up with him, bundled in a thick blue jacket and struggling under a huge backpack. Grantaire smiled as his friend caught up to him, out of breath. 

“What’s up?” He chuckled softly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. 

“Where you going?” Combeferre asked with a smile, adjusting his spectacles. “Café” Grantaire replied, nodding down the street. “Oh! Good! Then you’ll be going by Enjolras’s place!” He responded. 

At the name Enjolras, Grantaire stiffened, his senses heightening. “Yeah, what about it?” 

“Could you drop something off for me?” Combeferre asked, fumbling in his bag for some books, “I have somewhere to be.” 

Grantaire looked at the smaller man’s urgent expression and sighed. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to say no, but he just couldn’t refuse his friend. 

“Fine” he took the books from a smiling Combeferre and pointed jokingly at his face. “But you owe me” he said with a smirk. Combeferre grinned and headed back down the path as Grantaire started towards Enjolras’s apartment.

The wind was really picking up as Grantaire pounded on his friend’s door. It was opened almost immediately by Enjolras, and Grantaire’s breath caught in his throat. The taller man’s hair wasn’t in its usual ponytail, but instead hung in perfect golden curls around his face. Grantaire watched in silent rapture as he nonchalantly brushed a curl out of his eyes and stared at the man in front of him. “I was expecting Combeferre” he mumbled under his breath. Ouch. Grantaire shivered in the cold and Enjolras seemed to notice this. “Come in” he said quietly. 

From the frigid air outside, the warmth of Enjolras’s house was almost alarming. Unlike Grantaire’s apartment which was messy and dimly lit, Enjolras’s house was clean and cozy with soft lighting that added to the warmth from the crackling fireplace. Grantaire found himself feeling very out of place in his paint splattered coat and tattered old scarf, whereas Enjolras looked perfectly at home in his spotless red top and porcelain skin. Grantaire fumbled with the books under his arm and handed them, blushing, to Enjolras. 

“From ‘Ferre” he said. To his surprise, Enjolras cracked a smile. “Thanks” he said. Setting the books on his coffee table, Enjolras walked back into the kitchen turning to look at Grantaire. “Coffee?” he asked, with more warmth than Grantaire had ever had directed his way from the cold leader. “Sure” he replied gruffly. 

Enjolras returned a minute later carrying two steaming mugs, and seemed surprised to see Grantaire still bundled in his jacket and scarf, standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room. Enjolras gestured for him to sit and took a seat on the sofa himself. Grantaire fumbled with his jacket and scarf, setting them on the coat hanger by the door. First his scarf, then his coat. He stiffly took a seat as far away from Enjolras as he could, blushing as the blonde handed him his mug. They sat quietly for several minutes before Enjolras broke the uncomfortable silence. 

“It’s pretty cold out there” he said, nodding to the window. 

“Yeah” Grantaire whispered, suddenly very aware of his tattered boots and dirty clothes. 

A few minutes went by. 

“What have you been up to R?” Enjolras said, setting down his mug and looking at Grantaire’s head which was bent over his coffee cup. R tentatively raised his emerald eyes to the blue ones of Enjolras and found his heart racing. “Nothing much” he grumbled. He was getting very uncomfortable.

Enjolras continued to stare pensively at Grantaire, who hastily finished his coffee. It was too hard being alone with Enjolras. 

“I need to go-” he said quickly, setting down his empty cup and tearing his eyes away from Enjolras, missing his expression of slight disappointment. Nervously, Grantaire fumbled for his jacket and raced out the door, leaving his scarf. 

The next afternoon, Grantaire pulled on his coat and groaned, realizing that he had left his scarf at Enjolras’s. This meant he would have to get it back, and being around the perfect, living reincarnation of Apollo was just too much for Grantaire to handle. So he turned up his jacket collar and left the warmth of his house for the Café Musain, cursing under his breath as the wind whipped at his face. He forced the door open against the wind and collapsed gratefully against it as soon as it closed behind his back. He found the Café completely empty and smiled, walking up to the bar to grab his usual bottle. Reaching into his pocket, he found a disturbing lack of coins and swore loudly, sitting grumpily in the booth in the corner without a drink. To add to his mood, Enjolras walked in just then.

Grantaire stared at Enjolras out of the corner of his eye. The leader’s flawless mess of curls was pulled back neatly with his signature blue ribbon, making him look both professional and menacing, yet still ridiculously gorgeous. He was wearing his usual red coat, but Grantaire’s heart stopped when he saw the scarf he was wearing: instead of his ever present gray knitted scarf, Enjolras was wearing Grantaire’s tattered green one. 

Grantaire’s eyes jumped to the considerable room left in the taller man’s bag. He could have put the scarf in there, but instead he wore it wound neatly around his neck. He locked eyes with Grantaire and for the first time in his life, R saw his Apollo hesitate. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable to be alone with Grantaire, and tugged nervously at the dark green scarf. But it was only for a second. He then pulled off his coat, neatly tucked it under his arm, and went to sit with Grantaire.

Grantaire’s eyes stayed locked on his scarf, practically glowing against Enjolras’ perfect complexion. He followed his manicured hands as they slowly unwound it from his neck, folded it, and handed it to Grantaire. “You forgot this at my place yesterday” he said calmly. Grantaire reached for the scarf, muttering a “thanks” under his breath. He blushed bright red when his hand brushed Enjolras’s, still cold from outside. 

The two locked eyes, and Grantaire could swear he saw Enjolras’ alabaster cheeks turn slightly pink. Just then, Jehan burst through the door followed by Feuilly and Bahorel. Grateful for the distraction, Grantaire stood up to greet his friends, leaving Enjolras sitting at the table. 

He didn’t notice the way Enjolras’s face fell. 

The evening flew by and before he knew it, Grantaire was watching his friends file out. Sunken down in his seat, he watched Enjolras collect his things and pull his coat on, turning up the collar, and walking outside into the bitter cold. Grantaire pulled on his own jacket and tied his scarf around his neck, inhaling the scent of cinnamon and cologne that Enjolras had left on it. How much R longed to smell that sweet fragrance all day… he shook his head to clear the thought and pulled the scarf over his nose, leaving the cafe. 

The wind was blowing at an alarming speed, and Grantaire was grateful that Enjolras had returned his scarf. His mind on the subject, Grantaire thought of Enjolras, in this weather, without a scarf. His pace quickening in the cold, he saw the silhouette of a taller man walking ahead of him. 

It was Enjolras himself, shivering in the frosty air. 

Grantaire felt his heart flutter at the sight of his Apollo. Catching up with him, Grantaire whipped off his scarf in a sudden gut impulse and hooked it around Enjolras’ neck. The latter spun around confused towards R, who found himself smiling giddily. 

“You’re cold” he said. 

Enjolras glared at Grantaire, then his expression softened.

“You don’t have a scarf now” he said, genuinely confused. 

“Doesn’t matter” R said, feeling his heart quicken, “And don’t bother returning it.” 

He smiled one last time at Enjolras and raced down the sidewalk, feeling strangely warm despite the cold air. 

Enjolras stood watching R disappear over the horizon before tightening the scarf and heading home with a soft smile on his face.

The next while without a scarf was cold, as to be expected, but seeing Enjolras come into the Café day after day covering his nose with his green scarf gave Grantaire all the warmth he needed. 

With each day, Christmas was getting closer and closer. The evening’s meetings at the Café Musain often consisted of Bossuet and Joly hanging decorations or Courfeyrac bursting through the doors immediately starting a duet of “Baby it’s cold outside” with Jehan. The rest of the group would sit laughing as the two danced around the room singing, and even Enjolras would crack a smile. 

Every Christmas, the group had a tradition of bringing gifts for each other, often very personal. Every evening for the next week, Grantaire painted another picture, one for each of his friends, like he had done every other year before. And like every other year, he saved Enjolras’ painting for last. 

The night before Christmas eve, Grantaire stayed up late labouring over a tiny painting of the Café, finishing it with a satisfied smile and a silent prayer that Enjolras would like it. He wrapped it in brown paper and wrote “Enjolras” on it, placing it next to a package the same size labeled “Feuilly”. He then collapsed on his bed fully clothed and drifted to sleep with images of Enjolras smiling when he opened his gift drifting through his mind.

Grantaire woke up mid afternoon the next day and groggily made his coffee. He contemplated starting on a bottle but thought better of it, wishing to remain sober through the holiday. Opening the blinds, Grantaire got a shock. Overnight it had snowed, and everything was covered in a heavy blanket of white. Grantaire smiled despite himself and went to pull on some clothes. 

As he walked out of the room, Grantaire heard his doorbell ring. He froze where he stood. Who could it be? Certainly not one of his friends… most of them just walked right in unannounced. Or, in Jehan’s case, climbed through the window. Combeferre was the only one who didn’t walk right in, and he always knocked and never rang. 

Grantaire straightened his shirt and went to open the door, letting in a gust of cold air. 

There was nobody there. 

Grantaire looked around, confused. Who rang his bell? Just as he went to go back inside, Grantaire looked down and his confusion grew. 

There on his doorstep lay a perfectly wrapped present in red paper with a black silk ribbon. Grantaire picked up the present, which was lighter than it looked. He found a tiny tag hanging from the ribbon and his heart stopped when he read it. “To: Grantaire” it said, in flawless, loopy cursive, “From: Enjolras”. 

Grantaire brought the gift inside and shut the door behind him. He set the gift on his coffee table and stared at it for several minutes before tenderly taking it in his hands and slowly undoing the ribbon. He carefully unwrapped the gift and gasped in surprise at what lay inside. 

It was a scarf, knit from rich green wool. Grantaire gently ran his fingers over it and sighed. It was incredibly soft to the touch. He lifted it carefully and found a tiny “R” embroidered in one corner. Clearly, no expense had been spared in getting this scarf. 

But why had Enjolras done this? Normally the group handed their gifts to each other on Christmas Eve at the Café. He suddenly felt embarrassed to be giving Enjolras a dinky painting after he had given Grantaire such a gorgeous scarf. 

Glancing at his watch, R was startled out of his thoughts. It was nearly time to get going. He tripped over his feet rushing to get everything together. He tugged a comb through his wiley curls and carefully tied the scarf around his neck before racing out the door. 

When Grantaire arrived at the Café, everyone was already there. Courfeyrac and Jehan were singing carols as per usual, while Combeferre watched Courfeyrac with a huge smile on his face, whispering silently “That’s my boyfriend” to anyone listening. Feuilly was cheerfully handing out ornately decorated fans to everyone, occasionally singing along with Courf and Jehan. Joly, Bossuet, and Bahorel sat laughing in the corner with Gavroche sitting happily on Bahorel’s huge knee as the burly man glanced repeatedly at Feuilly out of the corner of his eye. Musichetta was chatting with Eponine, who had her arms around Cosette. The blonde was wearing a cheerful christmas sweater; the type that looked hideous on most people but that Cosette somehow managed to look adorable in. She was chatting to Marius, who was blushing furiously everytime she smiled. Even Montparnasse was present, leaning against the wall at the back of the room, occasionally grabbing Jehan around the waist and whispering something to them that made the redhead’s face turn the colour of their hair. 

Enjolras was nowhere to be seen. 

As soon as Grantaire walked in, Gavroche dislodged himself from Bahorel and threw himself into Grantaire’s arms followed by Jehan, who peeled themself away from their boyfriend to hug R. Grantaire greeted everyone warmly, happily accepting their gifts and handing his own brown packages to each of them. 

After maybe twenty minutes of smiles and presents, Grantaire found he had only one present left to give. Plucking up his courage, he leaned in and whispered to Combeferre; “Where’s Enjolras?” 

Combeferre pointed out the window where the snow had just started to fall again, partially obscuring the bench at the side of the Café. Grantaire thanked him and went to the door. 

“Where’s he going?” he heard Courfeyrac ask, “To find Enjolras” Combeferre replied. He vaguely heard Courfeyrac say something back that made Jehan sit bolt upright and smile giddily, but he ignored it and walked outside.

Enjolras sat alone on the bench staring thoughtfully into space. Grantaire noticed happily for the hundredth time that he was wearing his scarf. 

“Hey” he said, sitting down nervously, heart racing. 

Enjolras was jerked out of his thoughts and jumped slightly. 

When he saw who it was, he blushed and replied; “Hey.” 

Grantaire, same as always, surveyed Enjolras quickly. His hair was not tied back and hung in those gorgeous gentle curls around his face, creating a sort of curtain around his icy blue eyes. His pale cheeks were tinted red from the cold, and Grantaire sighed as he gently brushed his own messy curls out of his eyes and looped them behind his ears.

“What are you doing out here?” Grantaire asked, hastily running his fingers through his own hair.

“Thinking” Enjolras said. 

Grantaire laughed. “About me?” he asked jokingly. 

Enjolras locked eyes with him. “Yes” he replied.

It took Grantaire a minute to recover from his initial shock. Surely Enjolras was joking. He remembered the gift.

“Merry Christmas!” he said, handing the brown package to Enjolras. He watched in silent rapture as the blonde undid the wrapping and held up his painting. 

“It’s beautiful” he breathed. 

Grantaire could feel his heart racing. He held up the end of his new scarf. “I assume this is my gift from you isn’t it?” he said smiling. “It’s lovely.” 

Enjolras gently put the painting in his bag and locked eyes with Grantaire. His expression was hard to read.

“No… that’s not your present” Enjolras said quietly. 

Grantaire considered himself an expert on Enjolras’s facial expressions. He knew the way he pursed his lips when he was angry, the way his eyes sparkled when he was talking about a cause he cared about, the little smile he had when he looked at his friends. But in that moment, Enjolras’ eyes were filled with a ferocity that Grantaire was not at all familiar with. 

Grantaire frowned. “It isn’t? Really? Then what is?”

Enjolras tilted his head and continued, speaking softer and with more emotion than Grantaire had ever heard him use. 

“This is.” And with no more words than that, with the grace of a butterfly, Enjolras leaned over and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Ehhhh finally got my first fanfiction up on here!!! I wrote this ages ago so maybe not the best, but I think everyone needs a little bit of Enjoltaire fluff in their lives.


End file.
